Required Viewing of the 72nd Hunger Games
by HannahDrogo
Summary: Katniss is 14, and she is required to watch as people she grew up with die on the television. The arena from a viewer's point of view. The title was formerly "Required to Watch", please read and review! T for possible future gore and blood.
1. Chapter 1

**Thank you for clicking on this story! This is my first FF for the Hunger Games, and I don't read Hunger Games fanfiction, so if this is similar to any story out there, it is purely coincidental. Forgive me for any factual mistakes, I'm only halfway through Catching Fire, but I have read the wikipedia entries for all the books, so I'm set up enough! Please review and tell me what you think and give me some constructive critisism. Like, for instance if you think I used the word "and" too much throughout, or even something deeper. All reviews are welcome and appreciated (even mean, nasty ones, but I will get extremely sad if you're overly harsh). Also, need suggestions on a title. This one is pretty lame.  
I do not own the Hunger Games or anything to do with it. I don't own it so much, that you can take my story and I won't fight back! If that makes sense. But I REALLY don't own the Hunger Games, I do not intend to make any money off of it.**

**Required to Watch**

My fingers interlock with Prim's as we walk down the cobbled street, I in my best clothes. My outfit is slightly loose and a tiny bit stained, but like I said, it is the best I have. My mother had tried to do my hair, but I waved her away somewhat rudely. I now think that I could have been a bit nicer, especially if today is the day I get whisked away for the Hunger Games, in which case I'll never come back and make things right.

Needless to say, today is the reaping.

I'm just about to gather my courage, bury my anger and ask forgiveness, when we reach the square, and I get whisked into the crowd, being shoved somewhat harshly in with the other fourteen year olds of District 12. It's still only 1:48, but the square is almost full, and I feel trapped, claustrophobic, as people squash in from every direction.

After several minutes of this, the clock strikes the hour and the mayor gives the mandatory speech. Haymitch Abernathy, our only living victor, stumbles in halfway through this speech, burping out sarcastic apologies, and a few people in the crowd laugh. But most of us are too subdued and anxious to find anything really amusing. I look through the crowd, locating the sixteen year old's pen, and see Gale, staring back at me. This calms me a mite, and I look back towards the front as Effie Trinket, with her curly scarlet and sapphire hair and bubbly, obnoxious mannerisms, bounds towards the front of the stage.

"Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be _ever _in your favor!" And she sets off on a long-winded speech about who-knows-what, and before I know it, she's reaching for the big glass ball containing all the girl's names.

My heart stops, and I think, _Please not me, please not Katniss Everdeen, _please _not me! _Over and over until Effie's fingers close around a slip of paper, at which time my mind stops working completely. I don't hear who was chosen, but I do register that the name called was not Katniss Everdeen. I let out a sigh of relief, and it seems most people are doing the same. And then I see who is making their way to the stage, a tall girl with dark blonde hair and tanned skin wearing a simple, but classy, white dress. I recognize her to be Gladys Reger, the daughter of District 12's primary cloth weaver and a coal miner, her dad is always reliable to buy most of the game I bring back to trade. She's Gale's age, I've seen them coming out of the same classroom.

I feel horrible that she has to go into the arena, that anybody has to go, but I am so undeniably and inconceivably happy that it's not me, that those feelings are almost blotted out. I don't know if that makes me an awful person, but I can't spare enough energy to care much right now. My relief is short lived, however, when Effie Trinket reaches into the boy's wheel, and I start to worry about Gale. If Gale leaves, his family will surely starve. I'll try to help, but I can only bring in so much food in on my own.

I listen to the name being called, now, and it's obvious it isn't Gale. It is, however, a 12 year named Ben Abby, a small boy with dark hair and silver eyes (like so many of us in District 12) who lives just a few doors down and across the road from our house in the Seam. His parents are both coal miners. Effie calls for applause, but no one does. They're too shocked at seeing such a small child being called to fight to the death against assuredly bigger and more skilled opponents.

Effie tugs at her collar nervously as Haymitch Abernathy wakes up from his drunken stupor (I hadn't noticed him pass out), and he registers the two tributes standing on the stage. He stands up and claps his hands wildly, hollering like a madman, but soon he loses his breath and slumps back into his chair. This arouses a few more giggles and chuckles, but most of us are still upset about Ben Abby being chosen. Effie urges Gladys and Ben to shake hands, and then they are scooped into custody by the Peacekeepers.

Realizing the ceremony is over, the crowd starts to disperse, and I find my mother and Prim and we embrace, all three of us. It's been a long time since I've hugged my mom, but we're all so happy to not be apart, that, for a moment, I forget my mother ever went into her depressive, deadened state, and let us fend for ourselves. And then the moment passes and I straighten up again, keeping a grip on Prim's hand.

We turn to walk back to the Seam when we see the Regers being escorted by some rough Peacekeepers towards the Justice Building. Gladys' small sister is being carried by her father, whose face is stony and unreadable, whereas his wife is already bawling into a piece of cloth. Gladys' older brother Dane has an arm around his mother, whispering words of comfort to her as sobs rack her body. The crowd parts to let them pass, then they are swallowed up again, and I can't see them anymore.

I stare after them for a while, until Prim tugs on my hand, and I start moving, though with slower, more thoughtful steps.

When we get home, my brain is still full with pictures of Effie Trinket reaching into the glass balls, fishing out Ben and Gladys' names, Gladys being called on stage, Ben seeming so small as he nervously shuffled up the steps, Gladys' family so torn up at the prospect of her going to the Games, where there's a terrifically small chance she'll survive.

I don't talk much during dinner.


	2. Chapter 2

My mother, Prim and I make our way to the town square to watch the opening ceremonies of the Games. It's crowded, but not as much as last time, when it was absolutely suffocating. A lot of people didn't come out because they're watching it at home, as we could have done, but I had a few squirrels I wanted to trade with the baker, and Prim wanted to watch it on the big screen anyway.

I see Gale through the crowd and wave him over.

He addresses my mother first. "Hello, Mrs. Everdeen." She nods, smiling, and then turns her attention to the screen where they're showing an introductory piece, interviewing the costume designers. Gale ruffles prims hair and then asks "What's up, Catnip?"

I gesture to the game bag in my hand. "I was going to trade the squirrels while I was out tonight. Have you seen the baker around?"

Gale shakes his head, "No, but I saw his wife up towards the front. You better take them while she's out." I nod, knowing how vile the baker's wife is. Most people call her a witch, among other things. He smirks, and then adds "That is of course if you don't mind missing all the pretty outfits."

I shoot him a look and shove him out of the way, setting off towards the back of the stores. Prim calls after me, "Oh Katniss, you're going to miss the opening ceremonies!"

"I'll hurry, I promise!" I say over my shoulder and start out at a jog, weaving my way through the jungle of bodies, and within a few minutes I'm at the back of the bakery, knocking at the door.

To my relief, the baker answers. It seems he's expecting me, as he already has a small pile of bread cradled in his arms.

"Hello, Mr. Mellark, I have some squirrels here, if you'd like them. Shot this morning." I start out as I always do.

"Yes, Katniss, thank you." The baker smiles.

I reach into the game bag and ask him how many he would like. As always, he says "As many as you can spare." And I give him all five.

He smiles again. "Thank you, Katniss. Here's some bread – oh!" He straightens up, and shakes his head. "I almost forgot," he steps back inside for a few seconds and then comes out holding a cheese bun. "This just went stale. Do you mind feeding it to the pig when you leave?" He says with a faint wink.

I can feel the grin break my face as I take the small delicacy into my hands and look at it. "Yes sir, I'm sure your pig will be very grateful."

The baker smiles, says goodnight, and goes back inside. I stuff the bun into my bag with the rest. I then remember my promise to prim, and take off at a run to be back in time for the ceremony. I'm just in time, grabbing the stitch in my chest and doubling over as the gates open and the chariots come out, majestic, on the screen. Prim rubs my back and I straighten to watch with the rest of the crowd as ridiculous costume after ridiculous costume appears. When District 12 is shown (wearing skin-tight black costumes that look like they're made out of rubber, and a yellow hard hat fastened with a light on the front) the crowd cheers wildly. I think again of Gladys' parents and siblings, and stare at the ground. The injustice of it is really horrible. I look back up at the screen when Prim tugs on my sleeve, shrieking about the costumes of the District 7 tributes, which is really just a very revealing red plaid shirt tucked into a green pair of trousers. Both the boy and the girl are wearing a ridiculous amount of brightly colored make up, with their hair done up in a way that suggests a tree. They're even holding miniature axes, which they're swinging aggressively at the crowd, with winning smiles plastering their faces. I scoff. If I were chosen for the games, I would refuse to be stuffed into a monkey suit and ordered to dance around like a buffoon.

After what seems like ages, the ceremonies end, and I herd my family back to the Seam. When we're home, I take out a loaf of bread and cut three slices from it. Prim smells it and wanders over into the kitchen to watch me boil a stew, adding meat from a wild turkey I caught earlier in the week. Dinner is a nice, quiet affair, each of us leaning back, savoring the bread and stew.

My thoughts keep finding their way back to the Games, as they usually do this time of year. It has been a long time since District 12 won, almost 25 years. That was the year Haymitch won. I wonder if either Ben or Gladys has a chance, but my hopes are quickly dashed. Ben is just a child, and Gladys grew up in the merchant side of town, where she didn't need to hunt or scavenge. They were easy prey. I sigh, and stand up to clear the table.

When the dishes are done, I change into my night clothes and climb in bed next to Prim. It's not easy sleeping, remembering the Reger's faces and realizing that Ben's family is just a few hundred yards away from me, in their house across the street. I bet they're not sleeping, either – No, don't think about that, I order myself, I have to go to sleep. I have to wake up in a few hours to hunt. I need my rest. No more thoughts of the Games. At least not tonight.

**A/N: SOOO? What do you think? I'm not a good judge of my own writing. Sometimes I think things are perfect, and they suck, and then at other times I am SOO sure I use words repeatedly and the pace is too fast, and that's when I hear it's great… I really don't know! Please review and let me know what you think! I REALLY need it! Seriously, if you love it, that'd thrill me. If you hate it, I'd love to know why! I've got tough skin, I can take it.**

**I love you all!**

**HannahHunnicutt**


	3. Chapter 3

My heart beats faster, as it always does, when I let go of the arrow and make it through the beaver's eye socket, effectively killing it. I smile triumphantly and stalk towards it, my knife at the ready. I slit its throat and let the blood drain until it's only a light dripping. Stuffing it in my bag, I go off to meet Gale in our usual place.

He's not there when I arrive, so I start to pick strawberries for the mayor. I've just about got enough when the dead beaver I killed dangles suddenly in front of me. I let out a yelp and fall back, surprised. Then I hear Gale laughing, and I turn to see him rolling on the ground in mirth. Scowling, I pick up the beaver he dropped.

"Stop laughing, you dodo, I wasn't scared, you just startled me, that's all." I spit at him, and eventually he sobers up.

"You were _scared, _Catnip Everdeen! Admit it, you fought de wittle dead beavwer was going to get you…" He says in a mock baby voice and starts to howl with laughter again.

"Oh yes, you're _sooo _clever!" I hiss sarcastically, and then let out a humorless laugh. "I bet Posy could have come up with something more original!"

Gale calms down and stands up. "Calm down, Catnip, it was just a joke." He smiles kindly.

I glare for a few more seconds and then turn around, looking for his game bag. "What'd you get?"

"Just a few squirrels and a rabbit." He shrugs. "Not much going for it today."

I nod. "Well, let's head back, okay?"

We split the game fifty/fifty and start our hike back to the fence. Crawling under it, we say goodbye and then part ways. I open the door to our house and Prim greets me with a hug, saying "Do you know what tonight is?"

I force a smile and say, "Yes, I do."

Prim grins widely, "The Interviews!"

"Yeah, they'll be wearing more pretty clothes, huh?" I say as I hang up my jacket and leave my game bag next to the door.

"Yes!" Prim sings and then leaves to help my mother preserve the bread I brought home last night.

I spend the day skinning my kills and feeding the entrails to Buttercup, Prim's cat. When this is done, I leave to go trade what my family won't eat at the Hob. Greasy Sae traps me in conversation a little longer than I would like, and I just make it back to the house in time to catch the Tributes sitting down on chairs on the stage in front of what seems to be the whole Capitol.

I watch with disinterest as tribute after tribute flirts with Caeser Flickerman, the interviewer who doesn't seem to age as the years go by. His hair, lips and eyelids are a shocking bright orange, and he laughs at every bad joke the tributes make, helping them not make a fool of themselves in front of the entire country.

I don't catch most of their names, but I do notice a few of them, besides the District 12 tributes. There's a tall and lanky red haired boy from District 3 who seems good-natured, but something in his eyes (Or maybe it's the way he seems reverent when they discuss the killing aspect of the games) gives me the feeling he'll be a cruel and sadistic murderer. Then there's the small girl from District 6 who jokes about being able to fashion an explosive from most anything, and her counterpart who doesn't seem to have much idea about where he is or what Caeser is asking of him.

Finally, Gladys steps forward to the microphone after the large boy from district 11 goes back to his seat. Looking at her with the others, I realize she's easily the best-looking competitor at the Games with her large brown, curious eyes and full lips. Then I see her gown, which is quite remarkable. The tight bodice is a sleek and slightly reflective yellow, working well with, but not matching the large, and many-layered bright yellow lower part of the dress. The camera circles her as she walks forward, and I notice the bright yellow fade into a light brown in the back of her gown. She reaches Caeser, and he takes her hand a kisses the long, brown silk glove, and the camera zooms in to them both. Her dark blonde hair is sleeked back and her nose and lips are painted with an intricate design in a light orange color.

I don't understand this outfit. The outfits worn by tributes are traditionally supposed to reflect their district's specialty, ours being coal mining. And then I see the design of the dress. If you look close enough, you can see the feather pattern delicately sewed on in silk thread. I realize she's a canary. Sometimes we use canaries in the mines to warn of noxious gases.

"You look simply ravishing, Ms. Reger." Caeser compliments, and puts a hand to his chest. "My heart's going all aflutter. Feel it." He insists, taking Gladys' hand and pressing it to his chest.

Gladys smiles, "I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Flickerman!"

"Please, call me Caeser." The audience oohs and laughs. "And don't be sorry, it's exquisite."

"Well then you're welcome, _Caeser." _She winks, and then turns towards the audience, her face benignly seductive. Caeser clears his throat, and then starts the interview.

"So, Gladys, how are you liking Capitol life?" He begins casually.

"It's nice, I like it just fine." She answers in a small voice, a tiny smile playing on her lips.

Caeser grins. "Alright, enough with the small talk. Are you nervous for the Games?"

Gladys turns back from the audience, to look Caeser straight in the eye; her mischievous smile barely concealed, as she blocks her lips with her hand, apparently not to let the other tributes hear her, and whispers "Only for my competitors' sake."

The audience makes an OOOOHH sound and the other tributes hiss from behind her, indignant.

Caeser laughs good-naturedly. "I'd be afraid of you, confidence like that."

By this time Gladys has turned back to the crowd, smirking slightly. "I have a lot more than confidence, Caeser."

"I'd bet on it. Now, we see that you scored a nine with the Gamemakers. What's your secret?"

"I don't have any secrets, Caeser, secrets don't make friends." She says matter-of-factly. The audience laughs. "I'll tell you how I did it." She pauses here for a few moments, and you can see the crowd holding their breath, and the camera breaks to the Gamemakers, who are obviously miffed that she's revealing what went on in the training center. Gladys is still waiting, and finally Caeser presses her.

"How'd you do it?"

"It's simple." She breaths, her eyebrow slightly cocked. Then she turns to the camera directly, and stares into its depths. I feel as though she's looking directly at me. Suddenly she cocks her head to the side, and she smiles widely, her teeth as white as snow. It reminds me of when the sun peeks its head out briefly in the middle of a storm, or seeing the first flower of spring. "I'm pretty." She says simply.

The whole of the Capitol, it seems, laughs hysterically, and even I let out a chuckle.

Caeser Flickerman blinks, and then roars with the rest of the crowd. He eventually composes himself, and wipes a tear from his eye. "If that's all you need to get a nine, then sign me up!"

The buzzer blares and Caeser jumps. "Well time does fly when you're having fun," he said tragically. "Alright, Ms. Reger, if you would please go back to your seat, and have your handsome counterpart join me here?"

Gladys curtsies, and glides back to her seat, passing Ben as he walks up.

He's dressed much like Gladys, with a reflective brown shirt underneath a bright yellow suit and bow tie. When the camera zooms in on him, I see that it has the same feather patterning as Gladys' gown.

"Hello, Mr. Abby, you're doing well this evening, I assume?"

Ben nods, "Yes sir."

"Good. Now, I thought we'd just get down to who you are, and forget the Games for your interview, okay?" Caeser asks.

"Yes sir." Ben replies again.

"Like I told your lovely friend, you can call me Caeser." When Ben nods again, Caeser chuckles. "Well, for your interview, I'd like to start by asking the basics. What is your favorite color?"

Ben looks up into Caeser's eyes, and answers "Red."

"Fine color, fine color. I love it; it always reminds me of my mother-in-law's eyes." Caeser nods grimly as the audience laughs. "What about your family? Friends?"

"I've got two parents and a grandma, and my best friends are Oliver and Willoughby." He says simply.

"They sound lovely. Do you have any hobbies?"

"Oliver, Willoughby and I race all over District 8. I'm the fastest in my school." And Caeser keeps this simple Q & A going for 3 minutes until the buzzer sounds the end of the interview, at which time I really doubt there isn't a heart in the entire country that hasn't melted at the complete innocence of this boy. I turn off the TV immediately after Caeser Flickerman signs off, sick to my stomach. I go to bed without dinner, to be alone with my anger and sorrow-filled thoughts. Ben is just a kid. He likes running and dogs and playing pranks on the girls in his class and helping his mother do the laundry. And now he's going to die. And for what? The glory of one of the Career Tributes? The amusement of the shallow Capitol-dwellers? It's disgusting.

Sometime before I fall asleep, I wonder vaguely what got into Gladys. As far as I know (and I don't know very much, admittedly) she was always one of the most quiet children in school. Whenever Gale mentioned her, it was to say she was sitting quietly in the background, observing and not participating. So it's odd that she was so confident tonight. Not just confident, but… cocky.

**A/N: I'd like to add, that this story is dedicated to my best friend, Rebecca. She's never going to read this story, but I'd like everyone to know just how wonderful she is.**

**Once again, please read and review, and I love you all bunches!**


End file.
